Giorsky's eyes followed the river through the city, out to the northeast. The railroad bridge came into view. And right beside the bridge, all four targets appeared! Adrenaline shot through his chest.

"Sniper Two! I have visual on our targets. Let us do one more loop, and approach targets from the northeast. Follow me."

"Sniper One. I am behind you, Kapitan!"

They did another wide, circling loop, this time heading back toward the southwest.

"Sniper Two, go to one thousand feet and prepare to release."

"Sniper One, I'm going to one thousand now."

The ground rushed below them now, and approaching rapidly in the distance, Giorsky saw Warehouse 23.

"Sniper Two. Release weapons. Now!"

"Releasing weapons!"

Giorsky pushed the firing button, freeing the powerful S-24B rockets from his plane. "Five – four – three – two." He looked down to his left and saw three warehouses and a railroad depot in smoke and flames.

"Good shooting, Staas!"

"Thank you, Kapitan!"

Giorsky glanced down for another look at their kill. This time, multiple flashes and bursts were coming from the ground. "Sniper Two!

SAMs inbound! Climb! Again I say climb!"

Giorsky pulled back on the stick and hit the jet's afterburners. The MiG shot toward the heavens. Explosions rocked the skies all around the aircraft.

"Sniper One, this is Sniper Two! I'm hit! I'm hit. Repeat, I'm hit."

"Okay, Staas! Okay! Hang in there!"

"I'm bailing out!"

"No! Do not bail. Repeat. Do not bail!"

Giorsky knew that bailing into the hands of Islamic Chechen rebels was instant suicide. He had to think fast… for both of them.

"Okay, Staas. Can you hear me?"

"Dah, Kapitan, I can hear you."

"Staas. Are you injured?"

"Stand by."

Static.

"Staas? Do you have control of your aircraft?"

"Kapitan, I can climb and descend, but I cannot turn the plane! Tell me what to do! I think I should bail."

"No! No! Do not bail. Repeat. Do not bail! Not yet. Listen, Staas, if you can continue your climb, follow me up. We must get above SAM range."

"Continuing my climb, Kapitan!"

"Relax, Staas. Everything will be fine."

Giorsky eyed the jet's altimeter. 2500. 3000. 3500. He looked around in the sky behind and below him, but saw only blue. "Are you still with me, Staas?"

"I am here, Kapitan. Still climbing."

"Do you have a visual on me?"

"Dah, dah. I see you."

"Good. Staas, you are doing well. Keep your eyes on me and follow me to ten thousand."

"My eyes are on you."

Captain Alexander Giorsky was not a praying man. But if he were, this would be the time to throw out a prayer for his wingman. The plane kept climbing. 8500, 9000, 9500, 10, 000.

They leveled off. Giorsky looked out to his right, just above him at eight o'clock. The MiG-29 was there, just off his left wing.

But the compass showed a bearing of one-eight-zero degrees.

Due south.

In a matter of minutes, Staas's plane would be over the airspace of the nation that the president of the Russian Republic had ordered all Russian warplanes to avoid at all costs. And since Staas could turn neither to the left nor the right, nothing could be done about it.

What to do? Giorsky considered ordering Staas back down to treetop level when they reach the Georgian border. But now, NATO radar on Mount Ararat and at other listening posts in Turkey had already spotted them headed toward the border.

"Sniper One. Have you checked our compass heading?"

"I see it, Staas."

Should he fly into the forbidden airspace with his wingman, which would involve disobeying the president's order? Or should he let Staas go it alone, crossing through a beehive of NATO fighter jets?

If Staas could make it just another fifteen minutes, even on this course, he would be back over Armenian airspace, where he could bail out to a far more friendly reception than Chechnya or Georgia.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hold course. When you reach the Armenian border, bail out."

"What about crossing into Georgia? Are you coming with me, Alexander?"

What to do?

While Giorsky would welcome a scrap with an F-15, poor Staas, as green as he was, stood no chance against the more experienced American pilots even if his plane were fully operational. Without maneuverability, Sniper Two was a sitting duck.

The Georgian border was less than a minute away.

Giorsky pushed the stick down and to the left, banking his plane around in a big circle, back towards Grozny.

"Sniper One. Where are you going?" Staas's voice shook. "Are you leaving me?"

"Nyet, Staas. I am not leaving you. I am only looping around to come in behind you. That way, I can better keep an eye on things. I will stay with you all the way to Armenia."

"Spaceeba, Kapitan."

"Think nothing of it. You would do the same for me."

A few seconds later, the planes crossed the northern border of Georgia.

EC-2 Hawkeye

Codename Papa Bear

28 miles southwest of Kars, Turkey

The U.S. Navy EC-2 Hawkeye, with its twin propellers and dome on the top that looked like a giant flying saucer affixed to the aircraft, had taken off from the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz, operating off the northwestern tip of Cyprus.

The revolving dome atop the aircraft gave the Hawkeye the unique ability to watch all air traffic, military and civilian, for a range of five hundred miles each way. For the next four hours, the Hawkeye would quarterback all of NATO air activity for military missions over northeastern Turkey and Georgia.

From inside the plane, Navy Master Chief Rick Cantor monitored air activity over Georgia, Chechnya, and Armenia all afternoon. The screen showed that dozens of Russian sorties had been taking off from Erebuni Air Base in Armenia, flown to Chechnya through Azerbaijan, dropped their bombs, and returned along the same route.

No sign, however, of any Russian planes threatening Georgian airspace. Not until fifteen hundred hours.

Master Chief Cantor was sipping his last mug of coffee when radar showed two blips representing hostile aircraft heading straight for the Georgian border. Cantor squinted his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The blips were crossing into Georgian airspace from Chechnya!

Russian MiGs.

If not intercepted, their flight path would take them straight over of the Georgian capital city of Tbilisi.

F-15 Eagle

Codename Eagle Three

35 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia

Eagle Three! Papa Bear! Be advised two hostile aircraft penetrating Georgian airspace in your sector! Course one-eight-zero degrees. Range twenty-five miles. Bandits flying south roughly along forty-five-degree east longitudinal line on course for Tbilisi. Intercept! I repeat, intercept!"

"Papa Bear! Eagle Three! We're on it. Plotting course for intercept!" A. J. Riddle made a wide, looping circle, bringing his Strike Eagle back on a course to the west. His wingman, Air Force First Lieutenant Travis Martin, followed suit.

"Eagle Four! Eagle Three!"

"Eagle Three, " Lieutenant Martin said.

"Travis, on my mark, hit afterburners. We've gotta cut these suckers off."

"Roger that, sir."

"Stand by, Travis. Three, two, one, now!"

Captain Riddle pushed his throttle to the floor. The F-15 rocketed to the west on an intercept course for the Russian planes. First Lieutenant Martin followed suit.

MiG-29

Codename Fulcrum Four

80 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia

Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin was watching the plethora of activity on his radar screen.

Most of the white blips against the green background represented military flights by NATO aircraft crisscrossing the airspace around Tbilisi. So far, none of the NATO flights in the area had responded to the intrusion by MiGs into Georgian airspace.